Her breath was as fragrant as orchids, her beautiful eyes growing ever hazier, like the mist on a rippling lake. Her body trembled slightly at some unknown moment, and beneath the Korean-style dress with its half-sleeved bodice cinched at the waist, her full curves rose and fell erratically.
Such a scene of a nun caught in the throes of spring longing brought Chen Yi's mind instantly back to the recent moment when she'd been seated on his face.
Korean women were known for their beautiful hair.
Chen Yi's throat grew a bit dry.
The women who knew him all understood—he was never one to remain composed in the presence of beauty; on the contrary, he was one thoroughly enslaved by desire.
All the more so when Dong Guifei, even though she couldn't quite compare to Yin Weiyin, was still a woman who was only judged against the unparalleled Yin Weiyin herself.
